


Modern Love

by jolly_utter



Series: Cut the Sweet Apple [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Genderqueer Character, James Fitzjames (1813-c.1848) Wears a Dress, Misuse of piano, Multi, Polyamory, Pronoun Switching, Threesome - F/M/Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolly_utter/pseuds/jolly_utter
Summary: “I think we must have a dance of our own, some evening,” Sophia said. “I can play passably enough, and then you can see what a good dancer Francis is, though he’d never admit to it.”Domestic bliss, dresses, and more dancing. A sequel to 'Upon a Peak in Darien'.
Relationships: Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: Cut the Sweet Apple [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853548
Comments: 17
Kudos: 45





	Modern Love

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @reserve for suggesting that I needed to write about them all getting to dance together! I originally started this for my Terror Bingo square 'blindfold', and now it's a belated celebration of James Fitzjames's 207th birthday.
> 
> Is it too confusing to change one person's pronouns partway through writing about a threesome? Probably yes. Am I going to do it anyway? Also yes. Enjoy!

Modern Love  
  
_And what is love? It is a doll dress’d up  
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;  
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine  
That silly youth doth think to make itself  
Divine by loving, and so goes on  
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,  
Till Miss’s comb is made a pearl tiara,  
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;  
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,  
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.  
Fools! if some passions high have warm’d the world,  
If Queens and Soldiers have play’d deep for hearts,  
It is no reason why such agonies  
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.  
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl  
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I’ll say  
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats. _

John Keats

The servants were bound to find out, sooner or later. James usually rose when Francis did, getting out of the way so Sophia’s maid could come in and help her dress. On this particular morning, all did not go as planned. Francis, knowing he had an early start, had gone to sleep in James’s room. Venus, knowing James to be the more lenient of her masters, had snuck into the bedroom and made herself comfortable across the foot of the bed (as much as a massive black Newfoundland dog can ever be said to sneak). So James, warm and extremely contented, did not get up when he ought to have done and Sophia’s maid Agnes nearly dropped the tea tray when she came in to wake her.

“Miss Sophia!” She hissed in greeting, “What on earth are you thinking? What will the Captain say?”

Sophia opened her eyes blearily and at first was only aware of the weight of dog across her feet.

“Dammit, James,” she grumbled, “did you let Venus onto the bed again?”

She felt James startle away from her and abruptly realised that Agnes’s main concern was probably the man in the bed, rather than the dog.

“Ah,” Sophia said, pushing herself upright, “You know our guest Captain Fitzjames, of course. James, my maid Agnes.” The two nodded an extremely awkward greeting to one another and she went on matter-of-factly, “It’s quite all right, Francis knows. He’d be here himself if he hadn’t had an early meeting at the Observatory.”

Agnes nodded, taking in this new fact of her employers’ manifold eccentricities before continuing about her usual morning routine. After all that life had thrown at her, this was nothing. From a rough childhood in the alleys and closes of Edinburgh, she had been transported to Van Diemen’s Land on a convict ship, for the crime of petty theft. She was sent to work as a maid in the Governor’s House, where Sophia, also lonely and far from home, had taken an unexpected shine to the clever Scottish maid. They quickly became confidantes and helped keep each other out of trouble. Sophia had her trained up as a ladies’ maid, and when Agnes had worked off her sentence, brought her back to England with her. They had always kept one another’s secrets faithfully.

Agnes fetched a clean chemise and Sophia’s dressing gown for her. Sophia rose, pulling the chemise over her head, and tossed the robe at James.

“Here, make yourself decent.”

He looked at the lace-trimmed silk with something like wonder before wrapping it about himself. The sleeves were too short but it was loose enough to fit around his broader frame.

“Can I stay?” he asked. “I’ve never seen a lady at her toilette before.”

“Of course,” Sophia said. She bundled herself in the massive Paisley shawl that had been Francis’s wedding gift, and sat at her dressing table. 

Agnes muttered something about ‘lady’ being a bit rich for someone who wakes up with strange men in her bed and Sophia laughed merrily.

James watched the whole process of skin care and hair dressing and perfume with interest, lounging across the bed and petting Venus. It was an oddly comfortable domestic scene such as he never would have imagined himself inhabiting: somehow cosy and sensual at the same time, wrapped in silk that caressed his skin deliciously, watching the intimate ritual of a woman putting on her layers of propriety and femininity, while chatting casually about their plans for the day.

Her ministrations complete, Agnes left, accompanied by Venus, who was easily drawn away by the promise of breakfast. Sophia sat on the bed beside James, who rolled over to gaze up at her. He was very aware of his state of undress, now she was attired for the day, and he stretched luxuriously.

“Hedonist,” she said fondly. “You like this, don’t you?” she asked, playing with the lace around his neck. He hummed his assent, turning his head to invite her touch further.

“You suit it well,” Sophia told him, running her fingers along the elegant lines of his neck and collarbone. James smiled and let his eyes fall closed as she continued, combing through his long hair and caressing his chest teasingly through the silk. He found himself wishing that he had soft curves to offer her touch, welcoming wetness for her to sink her fingers into. 

“Do you miss being with a woman?” he asked, opening his eyes again. Sophia stilled as she thought for a moment.

“Yes, I suppose I do. Believe me, I am wholly satisfied with you and Francis, but it’s a different sort of pleasure, isn’t it?”

James nodded agreement.

“You can pretend, with me, if you like,” he added, somewhat diffidently.

Sophia bent closer, resting her arms across his chest.

“Would you enjoy being a pretty lady for me?” Her eyes were mischievous but loving and James felt exposed and utterly safe.

“Yes,” he breathed, and she kissed him.

Already a little aroused, James felt himself hardening as Sophia’s tongue slipped into his mouth and her hands wandered across his body. The silk fabric rubbed across his heated flesh and he moaned. She pulled back to smile and stroke his length through a handful of silk and lace and James bit his lip and arched his head back. He would take whatever she wanted to do to him.

“I can’t bend over very comfortably in this,” she said, patting her corseted side. He watched her pause in thought before she hopped up to fetch the oil and a clean towel.

“Get this under you and my nice dressing gown out of the way,” Sophia said decisively, and helped James settle himself on his side before lying down with her head towards his prick. She would make an excellent captain, he thought. Strategic mind, firm at giving orders, highly capable…

“What are you smiling at?” She asked, looking at him upside down and running her hand along his hipbone.

“Just wondering if we should change roles entirely. I could easily see you in command of a ship, while I stay home being a decorative wife.”

Sophia laughed.

“Mmm, I like the idea of that. And what a pretty wife you’d make.” She slicked up her fingers and pressed one to his hole. “Waiting for me to come home, all wet and eager.”

James moaned and hitched his knee higher for her. She sank into him at the same time as she wrapped slippery fingers around his cock, stroking and exposing the head.

“Your pretty little clit all hard and swollen for me.” Sophia licked across the head of his prick and he whimpered. Francis had never spoken to him like this, even when he’d worn a dress for him—afraid of impugning his masculinity, no doubt, dear sweet man. But Sophia seemed to understand and it was making James come completely undone. He groped up her leg through the mass of petticoats, and she let out a needy groan against his skin as his fingers curled into the wet heat between her thighs.

“You feel delicious,” he murmured, “want you to fuck me.”

James explored her slowly by touch, loving the feel of her sensitive slick folds under his fingertips, and almost able to forget whose body was whose as he rolled his hips between her deep-stroking fingers and tight hot mouth. It was an exquisite rhythm, slow and leisurely and sensual. One moment he felt he could keep going like this indefinitely, and the next, the pleasure that had been building within him peaked abruptly as Sophia sped up her thrusts. 

“Yes, yes, fuck me, just like that, take me,” he begged, every muscle tense. He couldn’t even move the hand inside Sophia, just held it steady as she rode against his fingers. Then he was coming, spilling into her mouth as she clenched tight around him.

“Enough, enough,” he finally gasped, and she withdrew, flopping onto her back.

“Frig me, please, fast,” she said, and he rubbed the flat of his fingers across her clit, pressing down the way she liked, until she arched and shivered against him, crying out. He let her ride out the aftershocks against his hand until she tugged on his arm, weakly. Then James drew himself upright, feeling shaky in every limb, and hastily wiped down his hand and ass and prick before collapsing facing her.

Sophia was beaming and breathless and he kissed her swollen lips over and over. She curled close against James, clinging to the silk robe still wrapped about his shoulders.

“Well that was an unexpected start to the day,” she finally managed, and he laughed, holding her close. “What time is it?” Sophia asked. “Christ, I’ve got to go have lunch with Ann Ross and this is all I’m going to be able to think about!”

It became their ritual, after that, for James to attend Sophia at her dressing table whenever Francis was out in the morning. She took delight in dressing him in what clothes of hers would fit him, and arraying him with the jewels and baubles that to her were mere accessories. Sometimes they made love, and other times they simply sat together, reading or writing or talking. It wasn’t a secret from Francis, but nor could either of them quite articulate to him what this time meant to them both, fulfilling needs for intimacy and expression that had lain unexamined for years.

On one such occasion, Sophia set down her book and looked up from where her head lay pillowed in James’s skirts.

“Jamie?” This had become her pet name for feminine James. “I’m planning to have a new gown made for spring. I thought you might like one too.”

“Really? Can that be done?” 

“Of course! I’ll give my dressmaker your measurements, and tell her it’s for a theatrical or something. You can have a gown made to fit, a corset, everything!”

James was beaming, and Sophia reached a hand up to trace his smile, the lines in his cheeks. He kissed her palm, and her fingers trailed down his neck to toy with the string of pearls there.

“I should like that very much indeed,” James said, before another thought dampened his enthusiasm. “But what of the cost?”

He had been contributing a portion of his half-pay to the household expenses, and spending very little on himself, but even with his small savings he doubted they would cover an entire lady’s ensemble. It was a frivolous purchase in any case and he could scarcely justify it.

“I have a secret to tell you,” Sophia said with a glint in her eye, sitting up to face him. “You know the prize money that the Admiralty offered for finding your expedition? Well, they gave it to James Ross, who was rather insulted as he would have gone to save you with or without it. And they don’t need it, not with Ann’s fortune. So he gave me the money, on Francis’s behalf, as he said Francis had done most of the rescuing himself in any case. Of course Francis would never have accepted it, but I’ve been using it where I can to defray expenses.”

James shook his head in admiration. He was learning a great deal about marriage, and the loving deceits and compromises that went into it.

“Now,” Sophia went on, “can you think of a more fitting use for the Admiralty’s money than outfitting one of its officers in the finest gown his heart desires? What could be better for morale?”

“Indeed!” He kissed her gleefully. “Especially if such an exercise is also for the benefit of a brother officer.”

Sophia nodded sagely.

“Oh, yes. How very thoughtful of you.” They kissed again, playful and sweet. “I think we ought to prepare a little surprise for Francis…”

After a great deal of mulling over fabrics and patterns and trim, and still more waiting while the garments were made, the parcels finally arrived in great pile on a sunny spring afternoon. The windows were opened to air that smelled of spring, a scent of earth and growing things that Francis knew he would never tire of after years in the ice. He raised an eyebrow at the large delivery, and at the flurry of activity as Sophia and James whisked the boxes and bundles away up the stairs. He’d known the two of them were plotting something for weeks, and this appeared to be the culmination of it. He only hoped they wouldn’t be too long about it, as the fresh air was giving him ideas about bare skin and kisses that were entirely unsuitable for a man of his age.

The sun was low in the sky when Sophia came to find him, nearly skipping with excitement. 

“Are you busy at the moment, darling?”

“You know very well you’ve been driving me wild with curiosity these past few hours.” She could entirely see through his affected sternness, but he tried nonetheless. “Show me what you’ve been doing, then.”

“I’m afraid you’re not allowed to see, quite yet.” She whisked a piece of cloth out from behind her back—a spare cravat, as far as Francis could tell—and held it up. “Close your eyes,” she instructed, and he felt her wrap the fabric around and tie it securely into a very effective blindfold.

“Are these theatrics really necessary?” he grumbled, despite his rising excitement. 

“You’ll like it, trust me.” Sophia’s voice was unexpectedly close, and she dropped a kiss below his ear, making Francis shiver slightly. She was away again before he could respond, pulling on his hand so he had no choice but to helplessly follow. 

He knew he was being led into the parlour, where Sophia guided him to sit on the sofa. Sophia moved away, and then, he thought, returned. There was a press of skirts against his legs and he spread them, reaching out to draw her close. He wondered vaguely where James was. 

A gentle hand traced his cheek and Francis could smell Sophia’s perfume, felt layers of rustling fabric under his hands as he moved them upwards. Her waist was higher up and broader than he recalled and he frowned in confusion. He stood, feeling the unseen person just a breath away. Francis traced the lines of a fitted bodice across a flat chest, felt bare wide shoulders, a long neck, and finally reached the unmistakable angle of James’s jaw. His face creased into a smile as his suspicion was confirmed and James closed the scant distance between them. As they kissed, Francis let his hands wander, exploring the pleats framing James’s neckline, the lacing running down his back, the solidity of boning around his waist. It was thrilling to feel these hints of what must be the splendid picture before him, letting his imagination build. Still, it wasn’t enough.

“Let me see you, love,” he murmured against James’s lips. James would have surrendered to his pleading tone in an instant, but Sophia had other plans.

“Not just yet, I think,” she replied, stealing her arm around James’s waist and drawing him away. “Let us have a little fun first.”

Francis huffed out an annoyed breath, turning to follow the noise of their whispering silk skirts. The next sound he heard was warm notes ringing out from the piano, interspersed with laughter at the odd wrong key. The suppressed glee in the room was palpable. Then there was the sound of lips meeting, soft sighs of pleasure, and he ran out of patience.

“Have you had your fun yet, damn it?” He grumbled, struggling with the knot and blinking as the fabric fell away. His ire was short lived, however, as he took in the sight presented to him.

Two ladies sat before the piano, their arms about one another, and he would have been hard pressed to say which was the more lovely or graceful out of the study in opposites that they presented. Tall and slight, dark and fair, James in red and Sophia in blue, and together an absolute vision. As he watched, they kissed again, and it stirred him more than he expected to see two ladies so amorously engaged. He knew one was James, of course, but he seemed to hold himself differently somehow, and it was easy to believe the illusion. He felt rather uncouth standing there before them, in wrinkled shirtsleeves and prick half-hard in his trousers.

“Good God,” he breathed, and they turned to him with smiles full of affection. James rose gracefully and held out a hand.

“Good surprise?” Sophia asked with what was probably allowable smugness. Francis nodded dumbly, holding James at arm’s length to admire him. James, eyes glowing, gave a swish of his hips and then ducked his head, compressing his lips as if he were in danger of spilling over with joy. 

“You are exquisite,” Francis said. At length, when he was able to tear his eyes away from James, he saw that the room was filled with candles, glowing in the gathering dusk, and the furniture had all been pushed back to the edges of the room. 

“May I have this dance?” James asked. Sophia played the first bars of a waltz, and Francis, though shaking his head bemusedly, could not stifle his smile. Then, remembering his manners, Francis held out a hand and led James to the centre of the floor. He bowed, James made a graceful curtsey, and he drew him into his arms.

It was a queer feeling, standing up to dance with a partner taller than he, and Francis had a momentary vision of stepping on one another awkwardly and tangling with James’s long legs. But Sophia began to play in earnest and Francis found that as he let his feet guide him, James kept pace as easily as any well-born lady. He certainly looked the part, with his lovely gown soft under Francis’s hands—Francis was abruptly aware of his lack of gloves—and his hair twisted up and crowned with flowers. One of Sophia’s necklaces was around his neck, gold shining against his bare collarbones. Francis glanced up to meet James’s eyes, finding them crinkled in a delighted smile.

James was finding Francis to be as good a dancer as he had hoped, leading confidently with his arm firmly circling James’s waist. With the benefit of proper dancing slippers and further practice with Sophia, James felt as light on his toes as any maiden, and scarcely noticed the persistent ache in her leg or the fear of being too tall and broad and ungainly for her attire to look anything but ridiculous.

“I’ve wanted to dance with you since that ball we attended together,” James murmured.

“Oh, that ball?” That particular evening had been a memorable one for all of them. Francis chuckled. “The sight of Sophia leading you around the dance floor, when I already knew what she was plotting… Lord, I thought the whole room must have been able to see my filthy thoughts!”

“You did go rather pink, dear,” Sophia put in with a laugh.

James slid her hand from Francis’s shoulder up to play with the sensitive hairs at the back of his neck. “And, pray tell, what were these filthy thoughts you were so distracted by?”

Francis thought a moment, a soft smile on his lips as he replied, “How good you looked together. You make a lovely couple and I didn’t feel a hint of jealousy for either of you. I just thought how extraordinarily lucky I was. How lucky I _am_.”

James ducked in to kiss him, squeezing their joined hands. Gazing at each other, James and Francis both lost count of the music, and simply stood swaying to it, holding one another close. In another moment they were kissing again, social niceties crumbling as they drew each other closer. Sophia’s fingers fumbled on the keys and they looked over to her.

“I never regretted the loss of that wretched hand organ until now,” Francis remarked. “Then we might all have a dance.”

James laughed and Sophia shook her head.

“Believe me, I’m quite happy to give you the opportunity. It’s when you _stop_ dancing that I get a little distracted!”

“I beg your pardon,” Francis said, with an amused quirk of his brow. “Shall we resume?” In response, Sophia started into a lively polka, which had Francis standing stock still in indignation and James laughing and shaking her head in protest.

“To think,” James said, “we survived the Arctic, only to be danced to death in our own parlour!”

Sophia beamed at James’s use of the possessive, and went back to the sedately paced waltz. Francis took up the lead again, but his thoughts were no longer on the dance. He was intensely aware of how closely James’s legs were brushing his through the thick petticoats, the warmth of James’s hand clasped in his, the glorious expanse of skin bared above the neckline of James’s gown. So preoccupied was he that he backed James into the piano with a thump, and the sudden loss of momentum propelled him in the direction his thoughts had already been inclined.

James tilted her head back to give Francis’s mouth further access to her neck, and shared a delighted smile with Sophia. Seeing that her services at the piano were no longer required, Sophia rose and joined them, wrapping her arms around Francis to unbutton his waistcoat. He turned, keeping an arm around James.

“You made this possible, didn’t you, you glorious woman?” Francis asked, before kissing her.

“I can take no credit for James’s loveliness,” she replied, and James bent to kiss her as well. Francis watched their tongues meet, feeling almost lightheaded, and let his hands wander. He groaned aloud when he found James hard under her skirts.

“Fuck, James, the things I want to do to you,” he muttered.

“Yes _please_ ,” James replied, “anything.”

“If I saw you at a ball I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off you,” Francis said, voice rough, pressing his own aching prick against James’s hip. “I’d dance with you all night and convince you to come home with me.”

“I say, what about my reputation?” James asked, grinning.

Francis looked up at Sophia, who had loosened the lacing of her bodice to allow James’s hands better access.

“Sophia is a respectable married lady. I’m sure she would agree to chaperone you.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, working on Francis’s trouser buttons. “I wouldn’t permit anything untoward to occur.”

“I’m so relieved to know my honour is safe in your hands,” James said drily, as Francis gathered her skirts up, getting a leg between her knees to hold the fabric aside. “I’ve never been fucked against a piano before.”

Sophia tilted her head to the side thoughtfully.

“Do you think it will hold my weight?” she asked.

“The piano?” Francis asked, frowning. “Why…” He grinned as he caught on to her idea. Releasing James for a moment, he closed the lid of the piano, lifted Sophia by her slender waist and seated her on the gleaming surface. She caught him by the collar and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

“I made her all ready for you,” she whispered against Francis’s lips.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Sophie,” he gasped, wide-eyed.

James chuckled and brushed a teasing kiss against Francis’s cheek. Francis gave a growl of impatience and spun James around, where she landed laughing, face-first in Sophia’s skirts. There was a great collective rustling as Francis pushed James’s skirts up again, and Sophia helped James raise hers. James drew Sophia closer by her hips until she could bend her head and lick up the wetness leaking from her, and Sophia drew in a sharp breath, not yet ready to be distracted from the sight before her.

Francis ran his thumb over James’s hole, moaning at the feel of it already slicked and stretched. 

“Look at you,” Francis breathed, “eating out my wife like a good girl.” James pushed back so that Francis breached her, working herself against Francis’s thumb. “Oh, the feel of you,” Francis continued, “so tight and wet around me. Want to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

“ _Please,_ Francis,” James groaned, as Francis ensured she was open enough to accommodate him. James had to pause and rest her head on Sophia’s thigh, panting, as Francis pressed his prick inside. James’s breath was hot between her legs and her hips twitched upward, seeking contact.

“Please, Francis,” Sophia joined in, and he looked up at her over James’s shoulder, red-faced and hair mussed. As he watched, she shifted her weight onto one elbow and reached down, spreading her swollen lips further open. Francis’s hips jerked and James gasped and licked a stripe over Sophia’s clit. She moaned in approval, grasping at James's hair, and watched as Francis began to thrust in earnest. James, pinioned between them, bent his mouth to Sophia’s cunt and let Francis set the rhythm. 

The heavy piano shook and Francis bit frantic kisses into the back of James’s shoulders, gripping her tightly-laced waist. He was absolutely wild for James like this: everything appealing both masculine and feminine in one body. And with Sophia’s enthusiastic encouragement in addition, he thought he might actually be in heaven. Francis could see her thighs trembling in response to whatever James’s clever tongue was doing, and he wished to be everywhere and feel everything at once. 

James, for her part, had been aching for this since the boxes first came through the door. She had come once already from Sophia’s dainty hands tightening her corset and fingering her open, sinking in to her wrist with a look of awe on her face, as James narrowly avoided spending all over her new petticoats. Then, the giddy joy of seeing herself in a perfectly fitted gown, kissing Sophia and sneaking glances in the mirror at the image of the two of them together. And sweet Francis, blushing and capable and commanding in dizzying succession, making her feel precious and filthy. At the moment, the only thing keeping her grounded was the edge of the piano digging into her chest, as James lost track of time in the heady taste of Sophia’s cunt and the deep satisfaction of Francis filling her, over and over again.

As Sophia reached a climax, she flung her leg over James’s shoulder and nearly kicked Francis in the face, but he caught her foot and ran a hand up her stockinged leg. There he found James’s hand and clasped hard as he lost control, spilling into James’s clutching heat.

When they disentangled themselves, James collapsed in the nearest armchair, skirts still raised, revealing her hard red prick jutting through the rumpled lacy petticoats and the slit of her drawers. Francis was ready to take it in his mouth at once, but Sophia had other plans, climbing onto James’s lap and sinking down. 

“Oh, fuck yes, yes, beautiful” James moaned in relief, and Francis contended himself with perching on the arm of the chair and caressing them both as he regained control of his own shaking limbs.

James tipped her head back in bliss as Sophia rode her, holding out long enough to feel her clench and tremble about her cock before she came again, shaking and gasping. The next thing she was aware of was Francis kissing her hair, and Sophia’s face pressed into her neck where she had slumped against her.

Later, when the parlour was set to rights and the candles extinguished, they finally undressed and curled into bed together. Francis stroked the light creases that the corset had pressed into James’s side.

“Not that I mind in the least,” he said, “but can I ask what brought this on?”

James made a noise somewhere between contemplative and contented. “Well, I thought it was high time I stopped borrowing Sophia’s things,” she said with a laugh that Sophia joined in, and Francis poked her chest impatiently.

“You know that’s not what I mean, wretch.”

“Ah, the clothes in general? I don’t know that I can quite put it into words. They make me feel fine like a well-cut suit does, but it’s a different side of me that gets to show off. I first wore women’s clothes for a play, during my time in Malta, and it was a revelation. You know that I’ve been hiding behind masks all my life. That gown felt at once like the most beautiful mask yet, and like flaunting something true about myself at the same time, hiding in plain sight. Like getting to step into an alternate life, where I was born differently, but still myself. I put it on in the morning and wore it all day, until it was time to perform. I can’t tell you how drab my uniform felt when I finally had to put it back on.”

James had been watching the play of moonlight and shadow on the curtains as she spoke, but at this point she glanced back at Francis, then to Sophia. “I’m afraid I’m not making a great deal of sense,” she said apologetically. 

“I used to wish I could look like a fine young man sometimes,” Sophia said, “so that other girls would see me as someone to be attracted to rather than just another lady. I still think it would be fun to cut a dash as a dandy about town. But I think it’s different for you, is it not? Not just about the external appearance.”

James nodded, squeezing her hand where it lay across her stomach. “I rather wish I could transform back and forth to suit my fancy,” she said, “though that would have made a career in the navy rather difficult!”

Francis chuckled and kissed her shoulder again. “I am certain I would love you in any form,” he said stoutly. “You will let me know, won’t you, when this fancy strikes you? I only wish to be able to acknowledge it in some way, if that would please you.”

James had no choice but to duck her head awkwardly to kiss Francis on the lips. “You dear, dear, man. I will. Sophia has been indulging my moods until now, and you certainly can as well.”

“You make it sound like a great sacrifice on my part!” Sophia exclaimed, before her laughing expression turned serious. “You are Francis’s husband,” she said, “in everything but law. But I would have you be _my_ wife, if you wish it.”

James hugged Sophia tightly, too overwhelmed to speak at first.

“It would be my honour,” she said at last. “Thank you, darling. For making this possible.”

“You shall have a new gown for every season, Jamie,” she replied, “And a bonnet on your birthday.”

“’And ye may love in spite of beaver hats,’” Francis murmured, and drew them both closer into his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Sophia’s maid in this story is Agnes Lees, a distant ancestor of mine. She really was transported to Van Dieman’s Land in 1838, on board the _Atwick_. She died shortly after arriving in Hobart, aged 21. However, it was common for convict women to work off their sentences as domestic servants, and since I’m already taking liberties with history in keeping some of the Franklin Expedition alive, I thought I’d do the same for her!
> 
> I got the information I have about her life from _Abandoned Women_ by Lucy Frost, which discusses the fate of the women transported on the _Atwick_.
> 
> The square grand piano was was affordable and widely produced in the 1830s and 40s, and that's what I'm picturing in the Crozier-Fitzjames parlour:  
> [Square piano](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Square_piano#/media/File:Square_Piano.jpg)
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [@anadequatesir](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/anadequatesir). Thanks for reading!


End file.
